Broadcast 28, Opus 02
by s2lou
Summary: She had been eight years, thirty-two hours, and who knew how many thousands of miles on the road, chasing a phantom and finding a man. February was never a good time of the year. KaitoAoko. AU.
1. Temporary–01

**A/N: O-kay. Drabble!AU again. This one will last all through February, so that should be a one- or two-day updating basis. Likewise, one day or two will have elapsed in the story each time. Clear enough?**

**Space-time location–umm, well. Time setting is February, and whatever year that has cell phones and laptops. Actually it could be now. The actual setting is more difficult, since they'll move around a lot. I used the USA as symbolic basis, but since I don't know much about its geography–well, any town name or county or highway will be entirely made up. Any resemblance to actual places will be coincidental etcetera.**

**Disclaimer–No owning on my part, no sueing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**0.1**

**-**

The snow turned slowly to an icy drizzle.

The subway was crowded, and stiflingly hot; it seemed that the entire west district was gathering here, swarming ant-wise in the twining corridors, rushing on moving walkways, blocking alleyways in their wait for slow-taking elevators. So many businessmen and businesswomen dressed in the same formal, dark-clothed attire, carrying the same tight suitcase, walked at the same hurried pace, that Aoko was certain she would not have been picked out of the throng.

She disliked her clothes –high heels she could deal with well enough, but her skirt was too narrow and enclosed her stockinged legs in an uncomfortable clasp– and her suitcase she had to grip onto so hard the handle was digging in the flesh of her palm.

She wished she could take off her black jacket. Underneath she had a white blouse, and if she could untie her pale blue cravat from her neck she'd feel one hell of a lot better. Instead, she was bundled from one place to another, stumbling onto elevator steps as she directed herself from sign to sign to find her train. The horde pressed hard around her.

"Sorry," she panted as she stepped on the toes of a middle-aged woman, avoided the flailing arms of a toddler in a stroller, and fled towards her quay.

It was, if possible, more packed than the corridors had been. She selected a corner near the drink vending machine and peeled her jacket off her shoulders, sighing in relief. The air was sultry and oppressive, but at least she could breathe it freely.

_Nice consolation,_ she thought wryly, and the train rushed into the station with a metallic whoosh just as her fingers fluttered up to the blue fabric wrapped around her neck.

It was crammed with more people, and for a minute she considered taking the following one–but it was a five minutes wait and the quay was only likely to get more crowded. She picked up her suitcase. The doors swished open.

She was shoved breathlessly aside, and ended up by the threshold, waiting for an opening in the lines of travellers. Two youngsters in black glasses passed her with a leer of appreciation, an exhausted-looking woman of about thirty, an old lady with huge grocery bags, a young man behind a newspaper. As he passed, the slow scent of cherry wine reached her.

"… ah."

The heavy MURDER IN SOUTH DISTRICT headline lowered, and blue eyes glanced at her.

It was short. The man's mouth twitched and smiled, and he gave her a curt, amicable nod before pressing away. The closing doors signal trilled, strident, and Aoko dived in, and escaped only by an inch a rather sad death by subway beheading.

The inner crowd and a crocodile handbag digging in her side ground her back against the glass doors. She was breathless. The train plunged back into the black void of a tunnel.

It had grown dark when she emerged again, and February dusk was grey and dizzy with confined rain. She bought a newspaper at the nearest store she could find and leafed through it as she walked back to the hotel.

MURDER IN SOUTH DISTRICT was on page one, and underneath, in smaller type, _Serial murders continue. The twisted mind of a criminal._

The picture beside it was that of a yellow-tape-strewn room; a white-clothed heap that could only be the body of the deceased. Aoko wondered vaguely how Megure-keibu had accepted journalists in. He usually was much less tolerant.

He was probably having a hard time of it, she thought, and said good evening to the receptionist at the hotel counter. The bright elevator lights shone oddly on the newspaper picture. She folded it slowly, watching the red numbers change from one to two to three to four.

She ended up heating up instant ramen in the kitchenette and then stopping in mid-microwave calculations to grab her cell phone. On hold. She sent a message instead.

Hakuba. We're back on track.

She considered adding she'd won their bet, but much as his manners and he were gentlemanly, her superior was known for rather difficult fits of temper. She resolved upon _I'll need money, and as much as you can get on the west district. Train line 5._

The answer came two hours later, while she was flipping through the TV channels. The weather. Cold and rainy. Snowfalls. Storms on their way. Lovely. Her phone buzzed in her jean pocket.

Nakamori. Glad to hear it–I was starting to think you were losing your touch. I sent out ten grand over to your account. Information will not be up until tomorrow, noon at best. I'd recommend checking cafés and bars.

Short and to the point–typical of him. Aoko grinned, switched the TV off.

Her dreams that night were blue and raw, pouring blistering water in the dead of winter.

-

**… and if any of you readers, except maybe katie-chan and ami-chan, understand what is going on here, I'm willing to eat my… I don't have a hat… striped cap here. –holds out cap– With salad and salt. I'd love to hear guesses, though. Cookies?**

**See you in two days.**


	2. Hinder–03

**A/N: Aaaaaannd the result is… no seeing me eat my cap yet. xD but keep guessing–most of my reviewers were half-right, though in different ways. This chapter, however, should enlighten the matter a little for you–if only on the business of who is chasing who.**

**Warnings–for this chapter, none. But some might come later. I owe Kirby one.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**0.3**

-

"I didn't think you'd find me so quickly," Kaito said, blowing on the glass he was drying. It was numbingly hot inside the café. Aoko looked out at the grey sky; her fingers were drumming a mindless tune on the counter's edge.

"We know you worked for cafés and bars before," she said, and tapped her spoon on the brim of the coffee cup he had served her minutes earlier. She did not lift it to her lips. "Once we figured out you were living in this district, it was child's play to find this place."

"Crushed again, crushed again," he murmured, and smiled up at her. When he came round the corner his hands were in his back, untying the knot of his apron. "You're not drinking your coffee. In this cold?"

She breathed in the lukewarm air. "What did you put in it?"

"Only plain ordinary sleeping pills." He pulled the apron's loop over his head. "Nothing threatening. A two hours' nap or so." He took it off. "You sure look like you'd need it."

"Sure." She looked at the dissolving grains of sugar in the black depths, still dizzy from the twirl of her spoon. When she looked back up he had hooked his apron on the rack by the door. "Your employer?"

"On lunch break." He pulled on a jacket and adjusted it over his shoulders. "Well?"

"You'll have to follow me," she said sternly. The split leather of the high stool beneath her creaked as she shifted to face him. He was fiddling with the zipper. "Hakuba wants to talk to you. He has for a long time."

"Good ol' Hakuba," he said, and he sounded like he was musing. Or grinning. Inwardly. He zipped up his jacket. "Still stuck on some old cases from old high school days. Well he'll have to wait." His tone was suddenly harsh and she stood quickly.

"I've gotten away for ten years. I'm retired," and saying so he slid open the door, slipped outside, and wrenched it closed. Her hand wasn't on the handle that he had already locked it, waved, and left.

Sometimes her father's tongue for creative curses came in quite handy.

It took seven minutes to pick the lock, and by the time she had run over to his lodgings–she really needed to get rid of these high heels–he was already far gone.

"He left only five minutes ago," the landlord deplored when she called down on him after finding the two-room bare and mocking in its emptiness. "He dropped by only to grab his bag and say goodbye. A very nice young man he was, too."

That intrigued her. "Didn't he owe you this month's rent?"

"He paid me yesterday night," the man said as he looked round for his clipboard. "He rented a car yesterday, too, and he was packing his things this morning, before he left for his shift. A sudden departure, but I didn't ask–he hasn't done anything, has he?" he asked, looking stricken, and finally noticing her heels and severely-cut blouse.

_Not in ten years._ "No. You wouldn't know which way he went, would you?"

"West."

West. That would mean he had to take Highway-15. She thanked him, left a message on Hakuba's answering machine as she returned to her hotel, made her bag, paid her bill, and went down to the parking.

She tore out of the city at four. It was starting to snow again.

-

**The funny thing is, when I was writing this yesterday, it really was snowing. I went out at eight in the morning to get to school and the streets were freakin' WHITE. And **_**that,**_** in Paris, is an event that deserves celebration. Therefore, cookies.**

**Did the chapter make things a little clearer for you, umm? You still gotta make me eat my cap, gents.**


	3. Immobile–04

**A/N: Wow, more updating. –is proud– Pretty theories out there, but none straight to the point. WolfDaughter's is the closest so far–to the principle of the story if not to the main point. Kudos for you.**

**Warnings–None here. Look out later.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, so suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**0.4**

**-**

The snow didn't let up and messed with the auto-radio transmission all through the following night and day onward. Aoko jabbed on the button every now and again, mechanically flipping through the channels.

Hakuba had not yet called back.

He had, however, sent an e-mail, but with the bad reception she had hardly received half the words. _Continue. Am looking for–_

The second half had been skipped in a whirl of snow, non-significant as the twirling flakes, blown about by gushes of wind until they disintegrated to nothingness. She wondered, as what little light filtrated through the thick greyness started to dim and she flicked on her strongest headlights, how many messages had thus lost themselves in the snow, sender and adressee both oblivion in the blowing storm and their words sapped and forgotten, meet me at, do you, have you ever, my dear, my love, goodbye.

Return to sender, return to sender, and the greenish sheen of a screen that flickers and flickers dark.

"­–weather reports are not all good, are they Charles?"

"No, Mike, they're not, and I might even say thgslfksdf and onward come the shine of God frslfksksr yet another unsolved murder crime. The police has refused to account for–"

Words and words, each a mere tremble in the air, each and every one forgotten as they were told, shunning onwards into dim blankness.

Around midnight her fingers started to grow numb around the wheel. She turned by in a pull-in motel.

"You're Nakamori Aoko?" the receptionist asked as she was signing the register. Aoko paused and blinked up, her fingers curled unconsciously around the thin, cool body of the counter pen. "… yes. I am."

The young woman looked about as tired as Aoko felt. "I have something for you."

It was a thin, silver pendant mounted on a silver chain; the trinket was dangling down from her hand. It was also hers. She had had it missing two years before, back in a wild goose chase Kaito had entirely set up half the country away. She'd thought it had snapped loose and remained in her rent car. Apparently it had not.

"It _is_ yours, isn't it?"

"… yes." The pendant disappeared in her fist. "The young man who gave you this for me­–when did he leave?"

The receptionist blinked. "Two hours ago." She retrieved the pen and register from the counter, checked them both, and smiled. "Here's your key." It was a numeric card. "Breakfast's open from seven to ten."

"I won't stay that long," Aoko mumbled, took the card, and padded over to the elevators.

Two hours. He mustn't have had any sleep last night either.

During such periods as these, this job was extenuating. Kaito was being deliberately mischievous–then again, when wasn't he–and the weather was doing nothing to ease the matter at all. She had been over thirty-two hours and eight years on the road, catching up with a phantom in every sense of the word.

The bedroom held a comfortable-looking bed, a minuscule bathroom, and, more importantly, an alarm clock. She took a quick shower, pulled on one of the motel's bathrobes, and sat on the blankets, musing over the blue-painted face.

It was nearly one in the morning, and she was so tired.

She set up the alarm at three a.m.

-

My, my, Kaito is one sneaky guy. He kept that necklace for two years–he got me there. He's the one in charge of this fic, I swear…

**Yes, so. Cookies? See you in two days.**


	4. Storm–06

**A/N: Cap still uneaten. Ha! –pumps fist in the air– that said, nothing much in this chapter will give you more data on the plot, except perhaps on Aoko's relationship with Kaito. And her still not sleeping. Wolfdaughter, you need to stop having such insight on this story. I **_**mean**_** it. **

**Dedication to Fyliwion-sama. Many wishes to you, dear. And keep writing, damnit. –hugs–**

**Warnings­–nothing in this... more to come, I guess.**

**Diclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**0.6**

**-**

"Ooh, sure," the girl said, sliding a tray down the counter and starting to stash paper glasses and boxes atop of it. "Blue-eyed. Cute. He gave me this," she giggled, pointing at a deep red rose lying by the cash machine. "I didn't see where he took it from, but the next moment it was in my hands… there you go. And a coffee? He came by early this morning, I was hardly down for my shift. You're looking for him?"

"Sort," Aoko said. The girl was staring at her expectantly, as though wondering whether or not she was pregnant and her boyfriend had bolted at the news. "Thanks," Aoko said, tightly, picked up the tray and carried it over to a side table.

The migraine induced by over three days without scarcely any sleep was pounding painfully around her temples. She should have asked the girl after some aspirin.

There was a ten-people line at the cash desk, however, and no other open. She uncorked the lid off her orange juice plastic cup and sipped quietly, eyes shut to concentrate on the stirring taste on her tongue. She hoped it might help clear her brain.

When she caught hold of Kaito this time, she'd make sure he got a good beating.

"The weather report," boomed the news speaker on TV above the counter, and she looked up at him, orange juice still poised above the table. "_Big_ snowstorm on its way, and the temperature should make a wild drop today and tomorrow… Highway-07, -09 and -11 are closing down, but it would seem that the storm should be heading west next. The south roads are clear, but any travellers going west through Highway-14, -15 and -17 had better think about it twice…"

Half the tables erupted in loud protest. The girl at the counter was twisting her body, still holding onto a burger paper box, to watch the screen eagerly enough to bear holes into it. "My boyfriend," Aoko heard her exclaim. "He was supposed to come meet me tomorrow–"

"We warmly recommend investing in an insurance on any kind of storm-induced loss," the speaker cut her off tartly.

Aoko had lost interest. She drained what remained of her juice, wrapped up her half-bitten muffin and coffee cup in a paper bag, picked up her coat. It was snowing hard outside. She needed gloves. Her fingers would freeze if she drove with her hands bare. They nearly had before she'd found the pull-in exit amid the snowflakes.

There were black leather ones on sale by the counter. She walked over, strapping her coat closed.

"You're not thinking of keeping going to the west, are you?" the girl asked, calling the pair up. It didn't work. She had to do it twice, pinching the label between two manicured-nailed fingers. "Didn't you hear? There's a snowstorm on its way. My boyfriend won't be able to come by to see me, and we can scarcely see each other every month. Yours won't keep on much longer, you know." She gave the cash register a light slap to have the drawer open.

"He's not," Aoko began, then thought better of it. She took the gloves and pulled them on, nodding in thanks. "He will."

-

… **she just knows him too well. I guess eight years of chasing him must have had toughened her up, umm? By the way, Hakuba can't walk in this fic. He's in a wheelchair. It's not actually relevant to this plot, but I thought it'd be clearer if you knew and I'm not certain I'll mention it later on.**


	5. If–07

**A/N: Hmm, and finally more of Kaito. Though he's a bit… quiet in here. Not the usual show-off. It also might give you a little more data about their relationship, those two. (They're surprising me every day that passes. Honest.)**

**By the way, since katie-chan asked, this IS an AU, yes. Mostly in the way Kaito and Aoko were not childhood friends, though–they met as KID and Nakamori-keibu's daughter, and that was over ten years before this timeline. All other DC and MK characters who will appear later on in the story are mostly the same as the canon ones, past backstory included.**

**Warning–again, nothing here. Not until another week, I'm afraid.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well in the world.**

**-**

**0.7**

**-**

When she found him it was with scrambled eggs. He was picking through them with a fork.

She slumped down on the chair opposite, and he looked up slightly. "Hey."

She glared at him.

A waitress came scooting over on stilettos. Some toasts and coffee, no cream, no sugar. "One for me, too. Please," said Kaito, apparently fascinated by his own plate. The waitress bestowed a charming smile unto him, which went off unnoticed. It appeared that scrambled eggs were what he had woken up for this morning. "I'll flavour it myself. Thanks."

The waitress stiletto-ed off and Kaito dug through egg some more. Aoko was silent. Above their heads a loudspeaker was booming some crackled song. One could hear, just barely, the dim roar of cars rushing by on the highway.

Kaito's fork clunked down on his plate. "You look like you haven't slept in days," was his contribution to the non-conversation.

"Maybe I haven't," she snapped.

"You never going to stop doing this?"

"Are you?"

"No."

"Well. There we are." In a dirty, lost pull-in midway through a snowstorm and a highway, hundreds of miles from any big town and almost out of reach even for Hakuba's services. Here we are. Here we are.

The waitress tap-walked her way back, balancing a plate and two mugs in the crook of her elbow. Aoko nibbled on a buttered toast, watching Kaito flavour his coffee, one cream, two sugar. Very pale. Very sweet. Probably too much to stand. It was barely dawn.

"You intend to pay for this?" she asked, spoon pointing at his saucer. "Or just make away with the cash drawer?"

He snorted. "I haven't robbed anyplace in ten years, Aoko. And I'm not interested in cash. Jewels only." He stole a slightly wilful glance at the counter, stands of drinks in soda cans and pink-iced donuts behind the glass. "Besides, it's so early there'll hardly be anything valuable in there."

Aoko downed her coffee in two gulps and ordered another.

"You'll have to come with me, you know," she told him later, after they had paid breakfast and said goodbye to the stiletto waitress. The snow had subsided a little; not by much. The car park was a white blur. "You'll have to, eventually."

"Someday, yes. Probably." His voice was muffled and muted as he dug through his glovebox. His car was parked four rows from hers.

"I don't want to have to shoot you." Her own voice she found oddly dispassionate.

"You don't have it on." He extracted himself from the glovebox, jingling his keys in his hand, and leaned against the car door to shut it quietly. "You always wear your gun by your left hip, and you don't. You must've left it in your car. Therefore no shooting." The car door clicked to a close. "Correct?"

"I should call the police."

"That's you, dear."

"You should have known I would go after you. There's not merely the bounty at stake." _Oh god,_ she thought, _oh, god, it's been eight years. An useless, meaningless, eight-years-old wild goose chase. _"I'll go after you." Her voice never caught; never faltered. It was old despair there, laid on thick, a layer of concrete over years of snowstorms.

He patted her shoulder. "Do."

-

**And somewhere in this there was a big honking HINT about who Aoko really is. And about Hakuba? it's not so random that he is in a wheelchair, not really. It's about KID and a heist that turned bad, though not only for him. –runs away before she gives out more of the plot–**


	6. Snowed–08

**A/N: … ah, so someone did get the hint after all. Ningen Demonai, you have my respects. You've managed to make me eat my… uh… well… you've managed to understand a**_** tiny**_** lil' bit of the plot. What, did you think it came down to **_**only**_** that? well it doesn't. –evil laugh– keep guessing, dears. By the way, your reviews are all heart-warming. Thank ye all!**

**Warning–nope! coming soon enough anyway.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world. **

**-**

**0.8**

**-**

The snowstorm worsened drastically over the span of twenty-four hours.

The radio was crackling softly, a gentle, if irritating hum that murmured around the car's cramped space. Sometimes, the pressure outside lifted–albeit imperceptibly–and the sudden voice of a speaker boomed over the headphones, only to fizzle back into oblivion.

Kaito's taillights were barely visible in the foggy grey outside; they slithered left and right and left again, sometimes slipping out of and then back into sight with the slyness of a salamanders. Sometimes she thought she could make out the darker, bulky shape of the car in a blur; and sometimes with the radio hum mingled the distant and low rumble of a roaring motor.

Aoko had cranked up the heat system button to 75° F.

Beads of sweat were forming on her temples, but she was at times shivering with cold. (It was hell trying to pull off then pull back then off her sweater while keeping a firm hand on the wheel.) She hadn't had a wink of sleep since–

"–SELLing cabbages at bargain price at–" a cheerful-sounding advertiser bellowed over the radio, and then decreased again and lapsed back into the great cellular void of snowstorms. Aoko blinked twice, very slowly.

She hadn't had a wink of sleep since the night before last. (She would have thought Kaito would slow down now she had caught up with him–he usually did–but he hadn't. He'd only stopped a few times to buy coffee.) Whether it be from the snow thickening or her eyesight growing weak, Kaito's taillights had glazed over to red blurs as in water–

–and seemed to have somehow morphed into lines of quick-blinking gold lights. In triangles. She rammed her foot onto the brake pedal.

The triangles turned out to be WARNING signs. Aoko slowed cautiously by and stopped before she drove straight into a police car, concrete and dark and emerging out of the fog like a sturdy bear. When she opened her door, the icy wind that froze its way inside made her lose a few moments hunting wildly for a coat.

"What's going on?" she yelled over at a tall officer in yellow-bright coveralls and a saturated helmet.

"Highway-14 is closed from now on," he yelled back, waving truck-like arms in a foggy direction. "Where're you going?"

Kaito almost ran bang into them. She must have passed him by without noticing on the highway. This must not happen again, she thought, frowning at him as he padded his way over to them.

"What's the matter?" The wind carried away his voice.

"Highway-14 is snowed," the policeman hollered, almost in Aoko's ear. "You can't go on that way. Gotta exit here and take a detour by–"

"I can't," Kaito shouted back. "I'm going west."

"You in a hurry?"

"Very."

The officer considered him dubiously. "Well, Highway-45 _is_ open," he howled, his words dripping with capitalized WARNING. "But it's likely to get closed up soon, so you won't go far, and ten you'll get stuck in some pull-in motel."

"I'll risk that."

The officer shrugged a Your Coffin kind of shrug and turned to Aoko instead. His face scrunched up against the wind. "You, miss–"

"I'm going too," Aoko said. Her eyes sought out Kaito's, but he was frowning at the police car–considering, perhaps, that he might go faster with one of those, she thought ferociously. "There's someplace I've got to be."

-

**Stubborn, Aoko, ain't she? She's also not sleeping. She'll be coming down soon. Actually, the whole thing will be coming down soon.**

**Cookies? take 'em, I've got to run. –escapes muse coming up with cap and salad–**


	7. Hover–10

**A/N: -passes by while running away from katie-chan and kirby-chan and that goddamn cap and drops new chapter-**

**Yeah, and this? is what happens when you're not getting enough sleep. Several people were starting to point it out, and well, although I wouldn't as far as making Aoko crash (Kaito would go emo for sure if I did), I give you **_**this **_**instead.**__

**Warnings–I don't even know why I bother saying that warning will come into action later on in the story.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**1.0**

**-**

As Night Two In A Motel Without Getting To Sleep For Fear Kaito Escaped began, Aoko thought enough was enough and she might as well ransack his room right now. Anything–a map, tape, diagram, bus tickets–might at least tell her where the hell he thought he was going.

She knocked on his door three times, waited out ten seconds, and picked the lock. She just hadn't considered that he might have been in the shower.

"You know, there is such as thing as Breaking and Entering," Kaito said. He was drying his hair and grinning over at where she stood by the bed, trying to look deadpan. "Code says a fine is to be given and a risk of at least three years of–"

"I _know_ what the Code says," Aoko cut in, exasperated.

"You could simply have knocked," Kaito remarked. "Loud enough for me to hear," he added, as she looked ready to retaliate in fury. He sat on the bed beside her and tugged on her arm to compel her to do the same. "Well, what did you want?"

She reluctantly let herself be led astray. Fatigue felt redundant by now, this was something else. Although she was awake, she might as well have been asleep–the drowsiness of her mind, after too many night nights of near-falling asleep and waking back to consciousness with a jerk, was enough to make her head spin. This was beyond yawning now–each and everyone of her limbs aching for respite.

"Where are you going anyway," she mumbled, looking down at his hands on the duvet. Her head felt so damn_ heavy._

"My secret," he whispered in her ear, but she was too tired to even snap up at him, and he apparently noticed it. "Aoko?"

"_What?"_

"… you're tired."

She didn't answer, and after a moment he looked away, scratching the back of his head in a gesture that was boyish and painfully familiar. "Okay. You should probably get some sleep–there's a comforter over here–"

"No–no." Her hands jerked up to his forearms and _clenched_ there, in the sleeves of his green shirt. "You're not getting away." Each word she uttered was drowsy, arduous, dragging in _depths_ of water and dirt in its wake. "You're not–going anywhere."

"I'm not," he said gently, but she hardly listened. Her hands were gripping tightly in his skin. It probably hurt. He said nothing. "I'm not going anywhere," he repeated, even softer, and finally, finally, closed his arms around her, warm, warm.

Her mouth was absently pressing against his damp collarbone and she felt him shiver when she spoke. "I'm not letting you escape me again."

She thought he chuckled, low and amused and in her hair. Her hands stiffened, and this time he let out a hiss.

"_Never."_

Fingers worked her way through her hair, threading silently with the black locks. One arm tightened around her waist, pressing her closer, closer; the other was draped around her shoulders, an innocent touch.

"Never, never," he said, though it came off as a mere sigh, and he sounded no longer amused but breathless and somewhat, somewhere, relieved, almost.

_What am I doing,_ she thought.

-

… **and the funny thing about this is that she's out cold after that and won't remember half of what happened here. Haha. Have some cookies. Whoops, here they come again… -runs away- **


	8. Oblivion–11

**A/N: My dearest reviewers, you are wonderful, the lot of you. My life feels like a miniature sun… also, Ningen Demonai asked after the numbers of the chapters. They're the days, minna. I'm trying to keep this real-time. When a day passes in real life, a day passes in fic. When two days pass, the same.**

**What was really funny, too, was that a lot of you thought Aoko would just wake up in this chapter. This is the beginning of the second third of the story, by the way.**

**Warnings–nothing here… much.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**1.1**

**-**

She dreamt. She dreamt, and wandered in corridors that weren't exactly dark, weren't exactly light, weren't exactly between the two. She wandered deep; she wandered long.

At times she felt she was in a room, and it felt like her old room from when she was still in college, without the green couch and the TV and snow outside the window. It was snowing outside. She wasn't cold, though. It was warm, the warm glow of light onto the walls. Outside the window, it was snowing.

It snowed on.

–_looking for something_, she thought, just crossing the line between sleep and consciousness she had been treading. No, not something. Someone. Somebody. Somebody imp–

There was a cool cloth on her forehead. Eyes fluttered open and stared at a ceiling long enough to hear running water in the bathroom, and lowered to a close.

Sometimes she was in her car, a comporting rumble underneath her thighs. Kaito sat on the passenger seat, fiddling with the car's heater, skipping from cold to hot to cold to hot to cold. She opened her mouth to tell him to cut it out.

Some other times she was just walking around in the same hot-cold-hot-cold-hot daze, feeling walls and holes with her fingertips. They escaped her swiftly, luring senses, quickly. They were smooth, and she hardly could see them.

Her father passed her by, looked over, died. Kaito bent over him, gloved hands shaking limp shoulders, one blue eye turning to meet hers. The rush of wind. Adrenaline. The funeral; all black. The touch of a hand on her shoulder, and, later, Hakuba in a wheelchair, dominating the conversation although he had to looking up at her.

Words. Words and words and words and miles and miles and miles, and all her determination sapped by too many years. The bleep of her cell phone in the distance–no, not so far, on the coffee table– She reached over her latest philosophy exam to pick it up, tuning the TV volume down. Hakuba's number flashed in and out of the screen.

_But that's impossible_, she thought. _I don't know him. I'm still in college. I don't know him yet._

Water was still running in the bathroom. She could see the open door. It wasn't dark, but the curtains were drawn, so all the gold, warm light came from the lamps.

The TV was on opposite the bed. She was in a bed. A bed?

"–_gure-keibu has refused to account for any of the murders committed in the whereabouts of–" _it crackled and then came back on, _"–out of the ordinary. We might be compelled to ask whether or not the police is doing a good job of following the trail of such obvious criminals. So far the tracks have been going a full west–"_

Aoko frowned. West.

"_I can't. I'm going west."_

"_Megure-keibu has refused to account,"_ the TV droned on.

Kaito had said that, only a few days ago–in the snowed highway. The police officer had asked whether he was in a hurry, and he'd said–Very. _He's going away_, she thought feebly. _He's going awaymuststophimmustgoafterhimcatchhimneedtogethimdon'tlethimescape–_

She slipped back into sleep, and looked for him in her dreams.

-

…**I said she'd be coming down, and that means with fever, gents. She hasn't had sleep in over ten days, and she's been in the snow all the goddamn time. She's exhausted physically **_**and **_**mentally. Quite a lot of plot in here, too. Cookies to celebrate that? –runs from cap again– **


	9. Waking–13

**A/N: … And then Aoko wakes. Kaito is **_**such**_** a gentleman. That, predictably, pisses her off. Anyone surprised? … I seem to be alternating the plot!scenes and the KA!subtext!ones. Hopefully they'll mingle at the end.**

**Warnings: … for half-nakedness? (noooooo butterfly-chan I will not give up it is no use using cookies I will delay it again and again. Because, meh. I can.)**

**Disclaimer: no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world. **

**-**

**1.3**

**-**

She was startled awake by nothing whatsoever.

She jerked to a sitting position, throwing off the blankets–good god, that was a huge lot of them. It was probably why she was damp with sweat, although her jacket had been peeled off, and she had only her jeans and–bra–on.

Her mind was a pleasant blank for two seconds straight. Then she started to bristle.

_I WILL kill him_, she fumed, scrambling out of bed and making a furious bee-line for the bathroom–water was still running there and she vaguely wondered how long she had been out cold, a minute or a full week–and wrenched the door open.

Kaito had, predictably enough, only his jeans on and was barely drying off. All the better, she thought–half-naked he was bound to be more vulnerable.

This being Kaito, however, he didn't give a damn.

He frowned. "Aoko. You're not supposed to be out of bed."

"_You're not supposed to be undressing me," _she seethed. "_What the hell did you think you were doing?"_

"Washing you off." He dropped the towel on the basin and grabbed a shirt. Green. "You had–_have–_a fever. In other words, your body was cracking a sweat. The heat makes the pores dilate and–"

"I know this," she hissed. "That's not a justification."

He glanced up at her, and there was something of the old grin in there–something more tired, more grown, but something that was still the teenage thief he had once been– "I didn't watch. More than was–_totally_–necessary." He pulled the shirt over his head.

She settled for glaring at him. "Hand me that bathrobe."

Eyes laughing, he tossed it to her.

"… why did you stay?" she asked him later, perched on a chair by the bed, wrapped in the heavy, creased folds of the white bathrobe. He was shuffling around with his bag, big black affair, dragging out a sweater.

He didn't turn. "I wasn't aware that I was supposed to leave you in your dying bed and make away with it." He zipped the sweater up and looked around. "You were_ burning._ And it's my fault, somewhere."

She bit her lip. "You know what I mean."

"I–" He sighed, and this time did turn, blue eyes dark and meeting with hers. "I'm taking a bus tomorrow. It wasn't leaving before–" he nodded at the window, "–the roads were snowed and the storm was bad. You missed out on the worst. Couldn't leave earlier, even if I'd wanted to."

"What about your car?"

"Frozen up. It was a rented car. I called up the agency and they're supposed to pick it up. Maybe they have. I don't know." He reached down for a pair of socks stranded on the carpet and stuffed them in his bag, then turned to watch her more squarely. "I'm leaving tomorrow. You could call Hakuba. I'm sure in that lapse of time he'd manage to helicopter us back to town."

She thought of that–she'd thought of that often. West. "You're in a hurry."

"Yes."

"… wherever you go, you know I won't just–_snap–_stop chasing you."

This time it were his eyes laughing. It was somehow endearing, somehow boyish. "I know."

-

**… I wonder why Kaito needs to shower so often. 8D –has totally not thought that just now–**

**A-hem. Yes. Cookies, dear readers?**


	10. Track–14

**A/N: … and so they begin to travel together. Also, Happy Valentines' Day! and happy birthday to you, D3athrav3n92! *blows kiss* More fic will come to celebrate both events later in the evening. Because, again, I can. Breed, my minions, breed.**

**Warnings–Nope!**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**1.4**

**-**

The bus was neither empty nor packed. A few people, men for the most part, hardly glanced at them as they passed, Kaito ahead, leading her toward a seat he would deem acceptable. He had clasped her hand to help her inside the bus and had yet to let go.

"What the hell," she muttered to him as she slipped past to sit on the windowseat.

"It's better if people think we're a couple," he said, with a sly grin. "Less noticeable."

"Couples hardly travel all over the country by bus."

"I know. But alone, I would have been more easily spotted so long as I travel by bus, and so would you. Left to ourselves, we are accepted as private business and left alone." He squeezed her hand lightly in emphasis. "Agreed?"

"Who's after you?" He shrugged, but she stood her ground firm, slapping the words back on his face, waiting. "Well?" And as he looked away she squeezed his hand in turn, twisting the tease. "_Well?"_

"You are," he said. "You are."

It was a breath and not nearly enough. She let it go for now.

She also left her hand in his.

It relaxed as the hours passed, and so did his. A simple embrace of fingers, tips brushing against knuckles, palm again palm. Kaito's was dry, and slightly calloused–the result, probably, of night practices and heists, grabbing tight onto handglider bars, priceless jewels. Sometimes his thumb absently pressed against the back of her hand, sending a minute shiver up her neck.

Some kid in a backseat had a walkman, and had cranked up the volume to its maximum. Though it was too muffled to hear anything more than an irregular pounding, its vibes resonated through the thick, overheated air and the bus' metallic sides, accentuating with each stroke the rumble of the vehicle like a gigantic heartbeat.

At two in the afternoon the bus stopped for oil and more passengers. Two left; a full five came on. Aoko watched them from across Kaito's lap–three workmen in dark-blue overalls, a young girl with a huge sportsbag, a man of nondescript age with a woollen bonnet pushed down onto his eyes.

These were sharp, meeting Aoko's, passing to Kaito. A nod there from her neighbour, something shifty in the dark eyes, and the man passed and sat four seats back.

Kaito made no comment.

When the bus stopped again, however, he followed the man out. They talked at the door of the shop, two dark figures bent over something in the grey dusk; she could hardly see them across the parking. The man nodded, laid a hand on Kaito's shoulder; they both went in.

"You know that man?" she asked Kaito when he returned with Chinese food in plastic trays.

He said no.

-

Because Akai means bus to me. I loved that old case. That's also the first instance of someone from DC intervening in the story–though there'll be many more x3

**Cookies? (this is starting to sound like a gimmick xD) **


	11. Haven–16

**A/N: So. Er. Plot plot plot. xD Seriously, it's time we move on a bit–romance's all right, but we're up to half the story with this update... so things get moving. Keep guessing, dears–this will give you quite a bit of data.**

**Warnings–nothing.**

**Disclaimer–No owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**1.6**

**-**

They came down in the early morning, leaving the bus to continue on on its own. The man who'd talked to Kaito had left the day before and had not glanced by as he passed to come down. Kaito had not glanced either.

The town was slightly drowsy and grey, quiet like it had no right to be on a weekday morning. It was not large, but few people walked around in the streets, and few shops were open despite the sun, already high and glaring February-white.

"What's going on here?" Aoko asked, as they strolled by a deserted park. Kaito walked beside her silently, hands stuck in his jacket pockets, looking grimmer than he had ever before. "Where is everybody?"

"I was right," he said glumly, and did not talk again until they were seated in one of the rare open cafés, two coffee cups and a map of the highways between them.

"Kaito–"

'–we are sad to announce that Ms Catherine, who had been aggressed two days ago in her apartment, has died this morning of her wounds,' the television over the counter droned. Half the people inside the café seemed to inhale sharply. 'Ms Catherine, well-known for her charity duties, has been found unconscious in her bedroom by a worried neighbour with whom she was supposed to go to a Orphans' Fair–"

Aoko blew on her Styrofoam coffee, looking at Kaito. His face was still, pale under the neon lights. The café had not breathed over the last twenty seconds.

'Despite the lack of shown violence around the room, and the complete silence of the operation, none of the neighbours having heard anything, the local police has been compelled to link the aggression with the serial murders that have recently been raging through the country and has called on Megure-keibu and his Force to–'

Aoko put her cup down.

"Two days late," Kaito breathed, eyes lowered to his joined hands.

"Maybe it's got nothing to do with the serial murders at all," she said desperately, anxious to get rid of the terrible strain that had settled over Kaito's face. "In such times of tension the locals tend to associate every little incident with–"

"No," he said. He folded the map once more and slid it in his front jacket pocket, frowning. "No, it's not. It does." His mouth twitched in one of his usual smiles, but it had never felt so–brittle, she thought, brittle and fake oh god.

"Kaito–" Her head was swimming with sharp realization, oh god Kaito, and it was stupid of hers, really, stupid not to notice the hints that were right before her all that time, and what Hakuba might be thinking did he even know, and _Kaito–_

His hand found hers thickly, interlocked fingers with fingers and _squeezed_. It was no longer the lax embrace of two days before, but a bone-crushing grasp, knuckles straining pale and thinning skin as Aoko's palm fitted with his, as their thumbs brushed and settled over the other. It was desperate, and years before –_before it had started before the whole madness they were had even begun–_ she would probably have been moved to tears.

But it lasted hardly a few seconds, and then Kaito's hand was gone, leaving behind an empty cold, leaving Aoko breathless and freezing as he stood up and went to pay for the coffees. He returned with two plastic lids to cork over their drinks.

"Come on," he said, and did not offer her his hand to stand this time, just stood still and icy and far-off and desperate to get on with it, desperate to get to it on time the next, the _next_ time. "We's got a bus to take. We wouldn't want to miss out on it and have to wait until this afternoon."

_This afternoon would be too late._

"You know which way to go," she said, less a question than a mere statement that had him nodding bleakly. She stood up, her cup in one hand.

"Yes," he breathed out, voice white. "Yes, I do." (Underlying: _please please please let me be on time this time this time let me be there to prevent it–)_

It's not fair. She nearly chocked on the thought, and took a scalding sip of coffee instead, following him out. The Styrofoam was beginning to melt.

-

**So she finally figured it out. To her discharge, she was immensely tired earlier, and didn't focus on anything but catching up with Kaito. Which isn't exactly the best lifestyle she could lead, to speak in terms of social norm. Those two turned out to be each other's life without–so far–actual romantic entanglement. That you leave to me. xD**

**-hands over teh cookies-**


	12. Entertainment–17

**A/N: Hmm. Last chapter was high on Plot. Let's give a shot at Romance. They need it. Though this might disappoint some–it started out really fluffy in my head and ended up bittersweet on paper–I mean, computer. I think it gives out quite a good view of their relationship, though.**

**Warnings–… for two responsible adults drinking some wine together? nothing more, really.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**1.7**

**-**

It so happened that the next motel they stopped at had a very fine cave.

They sat in the almost-deserted dining-room, watching television from over the bar and sipping wine. It had started snowing again in the afternoon, but the storm had lessened to leave definitely that day they had started to travel by bus, and the white flakes were, if thick, less so than before, and allowed for decent sight.

They swayed quietly behind the dark pane of the window, rubbing off the lines of the parking and the roar of the roads, bright as the dim lights of the room the two of them sat in gleamed off them like silk. The dining room was eerie calm but for the delicate clinks of their glasses and the hushed whispers of the television.

They had been watching it all evening, waiting for news of some inexplicable occurrence or of another murder to be added in the series. Nothing. Nothing.

"It means we're not late yet," Aoko said around mid-evening, just as the last costumers, bar them, left the waiter a tip and resorted to their rooms for the night. Kaito had a quick, negative jerk of the head.

"Not necessarily." He was calm, much calmer than he had been the day before. But the traces remained; in tired lines cornering his mouth, black curves under his eyes. "It might just mean they haven't discovered it yet." He exhaled in a sigh, took a gulp of wine, and appeared to relax a little. His eyes were darkened by the dim shades of the room and its subdued lights. "We don't have much choice but to stay here tonight, anyway."

It was the second time he said this since they had checked in the motel. Their bus did not leave till eight the next morning.

They lapsed again in companionable silence. It was slightly strange, she reflected, that they should sit opposite each other without fights or harsh words, without threats or jeers on either side. Just sitting and drinking wine. It was slightly strange–but it felt good. It felt natural. Meant to be.

"What will you do when it's all over?" he asked, startling her out of her thoughts. He was looking at her from over his glass, and though his lips were curved it was not in the usual cheer. It was thin and hardly even a smile, but that, too, felt right in its own place.

"When what is over?" she retorted, and it was easy to leave out all the bitterness of past years. So damn easy. "When you've caught up with… whoever they are–"

Another quick jerk of the head. "I meant when the prescription is up."

She scowled at him, cold in the chest suddenly. "That's five years away. I'll catch you first and you know it." But it was not true, and that _she_ knew. He was sitting right in front of her, and she was positive he would not resist overmuch if she closed the handcuffs around his wrists now and called Hakuba.

He knew that, too. Worse, he knew she was thinking it, and was waiting for her to come to the inevitable conclusion. "… it doesn't matter," he said softly, after a little while. "It was just a thought. You don't have to worry yourself over it."

"No-no." She shook her head, still frowning at her glass. "It does matter." A shaky laugh escaped her lips. "That's funny. I don't know. I honestly don't… know." Eyes lifted to meet his, blue echoing blue. "What would you do?"

His lips twitched again. "As a child, I wanted to be a magician. Like my father."

She remembered Kuroba Touichi. As a bounty hunter after his son, she was bound to know who the greatest magician of the nineties had been, especially as he had been KID before Kaito; but she had gone to his show as a little girl, too. Her father had brought her. She did not remember much, except loving it. She had been nine.

She downed the last of her wine; the bitter taste ran hot down her throat. "… you'll have to send me a place." He cocked his head a little to the side, with the confused air of a kitten, and she smiled thinly at this as much as to her own words. "For the premiere."

"I will," he said, quite seriously despite the amusement she read in the quirk of his mouth. Best seat I can find."

They sealed it with another glass.

-

**Woah! more hints. I'm curious to see whether you'll pick them up, though xD Here, whether you spotted them or not, take some cookies. **


	13. Wander–19

**A/N: A bit more plot, and I'm a little hard on Kaito in here. He's got Aoko, though, so don't worry too much… and don't throw any tomatoes for my being sadistic. –cowers away– that said, your feedback is wonderful. Thank you all.**

**Warning–For death. It's not pretty.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**1.9**

**-**

The next town they stopped at felt rather ordinary. It did not have to it the tense mood of the one they had visited earlier; people walked its streets cheerfully, went to work, ate their lunch in open cafés. The sun was high, white-hot as it shone onto the sidewalks, an agreeable change after the raging snowstorms.

"It doesn't look like anything has happened here," Aoko said as they strolled carefully down the main boulevard. "I think we're on time, Kaito."

"H'm." He'd stuck both his hands in his jacket pockets, and his gaze was a subdued blue. "I think so too. But I have no idea when it might happen. Or how. Or where." His tone had taken a harsh edge; slightly desperate too as his gaze swept over the shops that lined the street.

"Is there no way we can know?"

"I don't think so. If only I could contact Kudo–"

"Who?"

He didn't answer. She didn't insist, though the name was somewhat familiar. Chasing as she had been after Kaito during these last ten years, she'd paid little attention to the news, only to the most important when they reached her. For that name to make an impression, slight as it was, onto her mind, it must have returned frequently in newspapers and police records.

They had lunch on an open terrace at one, surrounded by cheerful couples. It was the first real day of bright weather since the beginning of February, and everyone seemed to be, with good reason, taking advantage of it.

They had just finished eating and were starting down the avenue again, perhaps thinking about checking in a hotel or buying a radio, when there was a scream behind them.

Aoko swirled around immediately. Kaito did not. He had gone deathly still, and only turned when Aoko grabbed his elbow and tugged him toward the place of the incident.

They couldn't see anything–too much people, too much people, all these weren't there before and why, why, why was the world so loud suddenly–but the shouts and the screams and the running footsteps behind and around them were enough to tell them what had happened.

"Hey–hey–that man–did he jump–"

"Gyahh, I saw everything again–"

"Someone call an ambulance!"

"No need, poor bloke is dead."

Kaito's hand found Aoko's and squeezed it hard. "We're too late after all," he murmured. She looked up at him, and her heart stopped at the look in his eyes–hard and cold, haunted as they had never been before. His hand was shaking in hers.

He started down the avenue, away from the confusion, with hurried steps and a face pale as a sheet. "C'mon."

"Kaito–wait!" She stumbled after him, trying to keep up, trying to keep him, keep him back, _go back_, anything– "Wait–maybe the ones who did this are still–Kaito, if we go up on the roof we can stop them now!"

"No need." He didn't stop, didn't look at her once. "It's too late."

"Too late for the man, but maybe we can get the guys who did it–"

He stopped cold at the corner, turned back to her, his glare like a door slamming shut in her face. "It's too late. They've gone already–they're maybe already out of town. We gotta hurry _now_, and find that bus, or we'll never be able to stop them next time."

She stared at him, registering his voice, strained and thin, almost without being able to understand what he said at all. A hand flickered up to his cheekbone before she even realised it was hers. He tensed slightly under her touch, then relaxed sensibly, eyes sliding half-shut.

"Alright," she said, in what turned out to be a whisper. "Let's go. You know the town?"

"I know the direction," he said, with a near-smile–so brittle and breaking, but there, and she clung on to it as though to a line of help. "We need to find that bus."

"Let's go."

-

**Aah, poor Kaito. He's not getting it easy, is he? well, more hints, anyway. Next chapter will give out a big chump of the plot, I might say. Last bets gentlemen. Cookies are accepted too.**

**Also, Kirby-chan? butterfly-chan? that scene you've been pestering me for is not very far-off anymore. xD**


	14. Owing–21

**A/N: Quite a lot in this. Plot and romance in a nutshell. Aren't you happy? Also, Kirby-chan, buttefly-chan, don't kill me. You still want me to write the next chapter. Don't deny it.**

**Warning–nothing in this.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**2.1**

**-**

They ended up checking in a rusty little hotel at 10.55 pm after two bus-days straight. The place was old, and half-empty, but the suite they were given, comprising of two bedrooms and one showerplace, was comfortable and rather cheap for what it was.

Aoko claimed the bathroom first, washing off days of travel and dust, washing off the stress that had accumulated onto her shoulders; washing off the worry and concern of _will we be too late next time._ When she came out, she felt relaxed and at ease for the first time in weeks.

Kaito did not. He was leaning against the wall when she came out, hands buried in his pockets, expressionless. He looked up when the door opened, and heaved a breath at the sight of her.

"You okay?" she asked tiredly; this was too heavy for him, she was sure.

He smiled thinly. "I'll be better after a shower. Go to bed. Shoo." His hand brushed her damp hair as he slipped past her into the bathroom. The door closed behind him, and she tightened her bathrobe around her waist, biting her lips.

A slight bleep from the desk caught her attention. A laptop sat there–god, Kaito, she hadn't even known he had one–whose was his bag, Mary Poppins? the thought made her smile as she stepped closer. The screen was lit up and showed several windows–one, a map of some kind, two, a diagram, three, an e-mail box. Just as she sat tentatively before the desk, that window popped up with a new message.

_Kuroba, _it said–apparently it was programmed to open automatically– _dunno where you are now, but you need to hurry over. I'm past Highway-34 right now. Mortown is the name._

–_K._

She clicked on the map window. Highway-34 was there, a little northeast from them, and a blinking dot was beeping as it followed the light line. Mortown–

The bathroom door opened just as she looked up Mortown on the Web. She did not freeze, did not turn. Her fingertips stilled on the keys. "… Aoko, what are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked coldly. She whirled around in the rotating chair, glaring tightly at Kaito's tense figure by the bathroom door. "Apparently you did not think it necessary to tell me you had a informer."

"Kudo answered?" In seconds he was beside her, tugging her out of the chair, taking her place, typing. "Mortown," he muttered under his breath, and she could have sworn it caught for a second. He followed the same course of action she had seconds later–looking up the town on the Web, locating it on the map–west, west again and again, on a direct line from their current setting–calling up a fifth window to check on the bus' schedules.

"No bus until the tomorrow night," he sighed, and turned slowly, tiredly, to look at her. "… you weren't supposed to see this."

"You bet," she snapped. "That's why you left your laptop open and kept the windows up. Don't you think I'm a fool, Kuroba Kaito."

"I know you're not a," he said, cut himself off, and something grew in his eyes. "I… actually, I have something to show you. I should have showed it to earlier but–" a defeatist gesture, as though to say, Now's the worst time. He pushed another key, and the window slipped down to give way to another, much bigger one.

She bent cautiously to watch. "What's that?"

"A video. An old one, so the sound's pretty scratchy, but you can understand anyway." He flicked Play. The two figures on the screen sprang into life.

One was painfully familiar. The other was, too, but no ache came with it. "That's my dad," she breathed, eyes roaming over the recognizable features, the short hair, the angry air that had curiously softened to that of–defiance, somewhat. "And that's–"

"Mine," he said. "Yes. Listen."

'_You are quite sure about that.' _Her sob stuck midway in her throat at the young, much younger voice of her father's. It had been ten years, and if she counted years correctly, that tape was at least eighteen years old. She had been–she'd been nine.

'_Yes,'_ Kuroba Touichi said, with a smile that was almost his son's. He, too, was young, but pretty much as he was on all the pictures she had seen of him. _'I am. I left you all the data I could find.'_ His grin turned a little softer, a little cooler. _'If things turn bad, I rely on you to keep an eye on my family.'_ –and then warmed again. For the first time, Aoko realised how great a father Kuroba Touichi must have been. _'If things turn bad, you'll be sure to see Kaito again in ten's years' time.'_

Her father smiled, too, if tightly. _'Yes.' _A hand was extended, between the thief and the policeman. _'Goodbye, Kuroba.'_

The hand was accepted. Shaken. _'Goodbye, Nakamori. Take care.'_

The video plummeted then. "My father died two years after that," Kaito's voice said soberly, beside her, but distant as though by years. "That's all I could recover of the tape. Everything else's rotten and you can't make out a thing." A pause. "But it's enough."

It wasn't. "It's not!" she said, grabbing his collar to make him look at her. "That's why my father died? That's _why?"_

He shook his head. "I don't–"

"Don't say you _don't know,"_ she hissed, her face very close to his. "Because you _do_. You know much more than you admit. You lie all the time–by omission. So now you're going to _tell me_, or I'll–"

His eyes hardened a little, and his hand tightened over her nape, bringing her closer still. "There's one thing I know," he said. "Only one," and kissed her.

Over the bed, the clock ticked to 12.00.

-

**That last line's a shameless ploy to keep on my update basis. Also, next chapter might be steamy. Sort of. By the way, that's the end of the second third. There're seven chapters left of this, and I'll be finished by March 1****st****.**

**Ahem. Cookies? **


	15. Raw–22

**A/N: … this site will be the death of me. Here I am, trying to keep my updates, and, **_**bang**_**! it's being bitchy. -pokes site- anyway, it's clear enough I won't be able to keep this in 'one day in real time one day in fic'…. so in this timeline, no time has passed at all. We're continuing on from where we'd stopped. Okay? okay.**

**Warnings–Kirby-chan **_**and**_** butterfly-chan pestered me for this chapter. That means it's not for the kiddies, gents. (Even if it still stays in the T-rating, I guess, although everyone knows what… happens next.)**

**Disclaimer – no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**2.2**

**-**

She had not been kissed in years. (_Eight years on the road, eight years, eight years_, chanted her mind.) The sheer strength of it nearly shattered her, as Kaito's grip on her forearms tightened so it almost hurt, and her own hands worked their way in his hair, pressing _closer _and_ closer_ and _oh god yes please._

His mouth shifted–near-imperceptibly–and he nipped at her lower lip, tugging at it before swiping his tongue across it to part them. She gasped (because oh god how _long_ had it been? how long had she wanted–needed–_craved_–for this?) and she retaliated, catching his own lips as he chuckled, low in the throat.

"Shut up," she mumbled, and bit him, not hard enough to draw more than a half-hearted hiss.

"Stubborn," he murmured. Both hands slid down to her waist, then one to the small of her back, pulling her more squarely onto his lap.

"Bloody tease," she muttered. One leg shifted so she was fully straddling him, seated on his thighs and _pressing_.

He gasped, and laughed, and said something in the vein of, Don't push it, dear. And kissed her again, this time waiting a second till she responded, long and deep and all lips and tongue. Breaking apart was meant to be only for air.

It wasn't. Instead hands between them were clasped breathlessly as they rested forehead against forehead, Kaito's mouth twitching in what was probably amusement, maybe–something else.

"Much as I'd like to continue, the computer chair might not be the best place." His breath was ghosting skin caresses.

She blinked hazily. "This is probably the worst we could possibly do." _In the situation as it is_, she meant, sort of, but Kaito's hair was like rough silk between her fingers and she could hardly think clearly.

"Yes. Yes, probably," and his voice held the same marvel as a child's granted with a wish, nearly chuckle, midway to sob. "But–" his hands pressed _down_ and it was her turn to gasp, "–we want this. We both want this."

"Yes," she found herself saying, voice catching, breaking, panting­– "_oh god yes."_

When they tried to stand, still tangled together as they were, they nearly collapsed right where they stood.

Eventually they collapsed on the bed. Kaito's shirt was hanging open as he kissed and licked his way down her neck and throat to lap at her collarbone. "Kai–nhh–Kaito–oh, god, yes, right here, Kaito–do you–ah–do you have any–"

"_I_ don't," he breathed against her shoulder, nipping at the soft flesh to make her shudder. "This is a hotel room, though­–" he extended a hand blindly to pull a drawer open, "and logically–yes." He dropped the plastic box onto the comforter, not bothering to close the drawer, and returned to tugging her blouse off.

She pushed his shirt off his shoulder, marvelling in the soft white texture as it rippled down to pool on the blanket beside their entangled bodies. Arms lifted to coil around his neck and bring him down, _close_, _closer._

"Your jeans­–ah–take them off. _Now."_

He grinned, one hand sneaking in her back to unclasp her bra. "In a hurry?"

"You have no idea," she purred, and choked out laughter at the feel of skin against skin, legs tangling, arms curving, mouths catching again and never letting go as deft fingers worked to remove the remaining layers of clothing.

(And then it was all moans and long, hot limbs and pleasure, and the sticky, awkward, blissful mess of the afterglow.)

-

**Baby steps toward a M-rating. One day. Perhaps. *shrugs* *fans self* boy, it sure is hot around here… xD next update will be up as soon as possible, which means probably tomorrow morning. Cookies while you wait?**


	16. Loud–23

**A/N: God, guys, thank y'all for the awesome feedback. All the people who reviewed this thus far are wonderful; it means a huge lot to me that you're taking the time to leave me a few words. I'm unable to answer directly to those who leave anonymous reviews, but thanks so much. **

**(By the way, in response to Eleven Clover : since you were anonymous, I deduce you don't have an account and wouldn't know, but this site all but blocked down all process of logging in for something like three days at the beginning of the week. Thus the gap in my updates. But thanks, I appreciate. Have some cookies.)**

**Also, special cookies to Fyliwion-sama, one hundredth reviewer! *hugs***

**Warning–nope…except one hell of a cold shower after last chapter xD**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**2.3**

**-**

Thy stayed a full twenty-four hour at the motel.

"There's a bus leaving tonight," Kaito said, picking up his jacket on the bed. "I'm taking it."

Aoko looked at him from underneath the arm she had flung over her eyes. He was zipping up his jacket, eyes already bypassing the armchair where she was curled up to focus on the door. "… what about sleep?"

"You can sleep in the bus."

"Can't we take the same bus tomorrow?"

"No. Besides, tomorrow will be too late. We won't be on time if we don't leave tonight."

Aoko slowly uncoiled herself from the armchair and let her feet balance back down to the thick carpet. "Kaito, what exactly is happening in Mortown?"

He shook his head. "You don't have to come." He was picking up his bag from underneath his bed, grabbing a t-shirt forgotten on the headboard to fling it in the duffel. His back was turned to her. "I'm leaving now as it is."

"No you're not." And then the cool, hard feel of her gun against her palm, curled in her fingers, and she was almost back in the practise basement ten years ago with Hakuba by her side, showing her how to handle it . A point here; between the nape and its very base, above the first vertebra.

"I took away the bullets," he said, pointedly, not looking at her at all. "A long time ago."

"I put them back in yesterday afternoon."

"I took them away yesterday evening."

"I put them back in this morning." Her hand tightened around the handle, her finger around the trigger, curled as a bowstring eager to snap. This time he did look over his shoulder–abandoned his bag and turned to her.

"I took them away not two hours ago." His voice was gentle and low; quiet; coaxing.

"I'm going to fire," she informed him, voice poised, posed, delicate.

He blinked, and tilted his head to the side. The little bugger. There was no smile on his lips, but laughter in his stance, laughter in his wordless questioning of her. "Are you?"

There was a pause as in music between two stanzas, and Aoko thought of silk bedsheet and entangled bodies, thought of Kaito's mused hair when he slept, thought of the touch of his hands on her skin, mock-burning, consummating what little distance they had kept within each other for years.

And then she lowered it, all in one piece, because Kaito's eyes were a little wistful under the mocking blue, were a little more tired than they had any right to be, and his hands were fisted in his jacket pockets. She was filled to the brim with seething rage, something fast and raw that made her want to jump and shoot something. "When does the bus leave?"

"Forty-five minutes."

"I'll go take a shower," she said, picked a blouse and baggy pants from her pack, brushed past him with a full glare, and stormed out of the room. The door rammed closed. It opened again. "You're waiting for me."

The bedroom door slammed shut. The bathroom door slammed shut. The shower door slammed shut.

Kaito sat on one of the beds and remembered to breathe.

-

… **what did I tell you. It'll get better, though.**

**It'll also get faster. There are six chapters left of this fic, so I should be done in something like a week, probably a little less. It was meant to be finished by March 1****st****, but this site was being whimsical. *sighs* Cookies?**


	17. Dim–24

**A/N: They needed a break from it all, so here goes. Besides, I got reviews telling me I needed to make up for the angst from last chapter. xD it **_**was**_** necessary, however. Their relationship won't be all hearts and love just because they've gone a little further than they did before.**

**Warnings–nup. Nothing here.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**2.4**

**-**

The first bus night they spent in silence.

Aoko curled up on her seat and stared at the sparkled blackness outside the cool window, distant lights trickling by in droplets blurred. She had lowered the armrest between them, and Kaito's hand lay upon it by its lonesome.

They stopped for breakfast and waited a full hour for another bus to pass and take them again. It was cold in the parking; barely daylight. Aoko walked slowly, pacing, blowing onto her gloved hands. The sky was such a blue that it wasn't even blue anymore, but a pearl-like white, and the growing champagne light faded over wisps of silver-blue.

A few clouds. The bus roared down the road, and Kaito's voice called her name.

More roads. The armrest was lifted from between them now, and Kaito's hand rested on the side on the side of his seat, oftener still, sometimes twitching. Aoko had propped her elbow on the windowframe. They talked only a little, but a little more than they had before.

The night fell again. Kaito went down while the bus was stopping for oil and brought back sandwiches, plum cake, and a thermos of coffee. They ate in almost-silence, with soft, whispering gestures. The bus' extern and intern lights flicked dimly on as it started on again.

Only later, when Aoko had curled up on her seat again, and was staring at the string of lights outside again, did Kaito's hand move to her forearm.

"Aoko–" and his voice was hesitant, like a plume of smoke, whispery, almost, "are you mad at me?"

She turned her head to look at him, and then slowly uncoiled, so that they nearly faced each other. She left his hand on her arm.

"… yes," she admitted. "I'm mad at you. I'm mad at you for being such a jerk, for doing everything you want when I've been chasing you for years. I'm mad at you for being such a gentleman that you want me to stay behind when you're rushing into god-knows-what risk." His hand had lain against her cheek, soft but pressing, _there_. "I've been mad at you for years," she said quietly. "I'm not going to stop."

He kissed the corner of her mouth. "I know. I'm sorry."

His voice had but the faintest echo of its old flippant manner, none of the bright shine of the ten-year-dead thief, none of the smooth wine-like quality it had two nights before in the throes of making love. It was weary–if not strained, at least tired by roads and roads.

"Can I take you in my arms?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You need to ask?"

"No," he admitted impishly. "But I want to?"

Her arms opened, welcomed him in, and they managed to settle in a position that suited them both. Kaito's dark head rested on her shoulder, and the arm around her waist tightened and relaxed at times. He chuckled suddenly.

"What?"

"I was thinking," he said, "it took us eight years to come to this."

_My world has consisted of you and this road for eight years_, was what she left unsaid, and felt that odd, tightening cold in her chest again, an unease for a few seconds until the warmth of the body pressing against hers sapped it quietly away.

It was strange, she thought, as he dozed off in her neck. It was strange this petty-ish thing they had between them–like that armrest, in a way–cold and warm in the same, scratchy like the jacket material against her cheek. But it had its perks–the tickling of dark bangs stroking her skin, the relaxed mouth, the slightly boyish air of Kaito's face as he slept.

-

**Aah, fluff. Fluffy fluffy fluff. Hope you liked it, because it probably won't happen again. From next chapter onwards, the story pace will pick up and won't slow again. Cookies? x3**


	18. End–26

**A/N: Plot, plot, and plot. There will be a chapter a day from now on; there are, counting this one, 4 chapters left. Passed quickly, didn't it? x3 also, quite a lot of DC characters in this.**

**Warnings–nah-uh.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world. **

**-**

**2.6**

**-**

They miraculously found a café open at dawn.

Mortown was dead in the crackling light–deserved its name if anything–streets empty and grey, hardly tainted by spilling copper-red sunbeams. Kaito grabbed Aoko's elbow just before entering the café and propelled her past the automatic glass doors.

He bought donuts and scalding, black coffee to a guy with dazed eyes and an open mouth at the counter, and Aoko huddled with him at a four-seat table by the wide shopwindow, sipping her tongue-burning drink.

"So this is the right place?"

"Yes," Kaito nodded, without diverting his eyes from the street. "Yes, this is the right place. And, if I'm not mistaken, it's the right day also."

"The right time?"

His eyes flickered thoughtfully. "Not yet. We have over a few hours."

The automatic doors swished open. A man who could have been Kaito's twin entered came in–only taller and with tamer hair, a serious air where Kaito was cheeky–he bought a mocha at the counter and came to sit down opposite them.

He looked strained, but he lifted his eyes to Aoko's with a smile. "Nakamori Aoko. Nice to meet you at last. I'm Kudo Shinichi."

She shook his hand and didn't ask a thing, but he said– "I'm not one of Kuroba's relatives, if you wondered."

"I know," she found herself replying, watching him. He did look a lot like Kaito, but there were differences; a longer, stronger-boned face, a stiffer mouth, weary lines at the corner of his eyes. "I would know if you were."

Kaito turned away to stifle a smile. Aoko elbowed him in the ribs. "Shut up."

His hand curled around her and squeezed.

"Hattori's coming over," Kudo said, laying rather genuine-looking glasses on the table beside his cup. "Haibara said she didn't care to come, and I can't blame her." He took a large gulp of his mocha.

Kaito poked at the glasses with his spoon. "More gadgets?"

Kudo snorted. "You can talk," he said, and a dark-skinned man burst into the café, racing all the way to the counter before, spotting them, he stalked over to their table. He was wearing a leather jacket and a baseball cap.

He stopped short at the sight of Aoko, frowning. "What's a woman doing here?"

"Shut up," Kaito suggested, fingers cooler as they twined with Aoko's.

Kudo laid a hand on the man's arm. "Hattori. Sit. Don't play the fool, Kuroba," he said, with a dark look at Kaito, who looked unfazed. "Nakamori-san's here because she's investigating her father's death, Hattori."

Hattori glanced at her, the green of his eyes clearing a little, and slumped down on one of the chintz-covered chairs. He cast Kudo a questioning look. "Neechan?"

"… stayed at home," Kudo said slowly.

"Mustn't have liked it."

"She didn't. But this unfinished business has been running on for years. I didn't risk her life ten years ago, I won't now." His next look at Hattori wasn't much clearer; it was wavering, uncertain. "Did you–?"

"Visited 'Zuha's grave on the way, yeah," Hattori said, understanding the unspoken question with an ease that spoke years of practice. "Told her she was going to be avenged. I've waited five years to be able to tell her that."

Kaito pushed a donut toward him.

The café was beginning to fill, and the street was a little less grey and dull. The three men were mostly silent as they sipped coffee or ate cake; Kaito was tapping nervously onto a pack of sugar. "Stop that," Kudo said, abstractedly. He didn't.

Workmen. Three of four youngsters who started flirting with the waitress. A family, ordering eggs-and-bacon breakfast and leaving almost immediately. A couple of police officers before their shift.

Three–a blond woman, an elder man, a younger one with a bonnet–and god, wasn't he the one from the bus?–settling at the counter and ordering coffee. Kudo didn't look around; Kaito's hand was slightly damp.

Hattori finished his donut and started to gather the crumps on his plate with two fingers.

The workmen left. Their table was taken by two men and two woman; all of which familiar. The youngest man, with somewhat boyish features, nodded shyly at their table; Kudo responded with a rapid smile.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and it was so anticlimactic, so tension-breaking, she would have jumped or laughed had Kaito's hand not been in hers.

Hakuba. He had not contacted her in so long, it was alien to receive a message from him now. _Tell them to get ready. Reinforcement is on its way. I'm coming over. _"What does that mean?" she asked, as Kaito read over her shoulder and repeated the message. Hakuba's trip was surprising. The detective hardly ever left his house, let alone his town.

"It means," Kudo said, "that it's finally beginning."

-

**So yes, Shinichi and Ran are married, yes, that shy man was Takagi, yes, Jodie and Black were with Akai, and yes, Katie-chan, Kazuha is dead. I'm sorry. Also, cliffie. Sorta. Dun dun dun.**


	19. New–27

**A/N: *sara-chan under a ton of bricks* look, I understand you love Kazuha, all, but killing off the author will NOT bring her back. Okay? okay. xD also, this chapter might be a little confusing. It's meant to be. **

**Warnings­–none.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, so suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**2.7**

**-**

"Aoko!" Kaito shouted from the dead end of the alley.

She ran up to him, one hand holding her gun firmly, and let him sweep her almost right off her feet and into the dark entrance of the desert house. "Where are the inhabitants?" she asked breathlessly, following him up a dark square staircase.

"The police force took care of this area already," he replied, pushing a door. "They've all been evacuated out of town." He walked over to the tall window that stood over to a side, looking out into the dark-grey ramifications of the streets in the predawn light. "C'mon, we don't have much time."

"I still can't believe anyone would start experimenting on a whole town," she said, and joined him. Mortown was very still, very calm. It was difficult to think anything was going on–but the house was eerie quiet and dark around them, and the sounds of the shoot-out from earlier still resounded in her ears, loud and barking. The café had been nearly destroyed.

"Trust me," he said grimly.

Save from a few lights in the northwest corner, everything with still rather dark. "What's going on there?"

"Houses on fire," he said shortly. "Kudo and Hattori are supposed to head there." He was silent for a few moments. When he spoke again, it was in a tighter voice, nearly hesitant. "You remember that man with the whiskers? the one in the street by the café?"

She glanced at him, her mind assaulted by memories of the gunfight. It was not the first time she had been caught in one over the ten last years, but the sight of death was not something she could get used to. "The one–is Akai his name?–the man with the bonnet, the one he shot? yes. Why?"

The breath he took in was shaky. "He was the man who killed my father." Another pause, shorter, and suddenly she was breathless in the knowledge of what was coming next. "… and yours." He looked away.

"… Kaito…"

"I should have told you sooner," he said quickly, "but we got stuck in the shooting and then we had to take care of the borders and that man Black had us hide separately during the afternoon–" an exhalation, soft and raspy, "I'm sorry."

Her hand found his and squeezed, and then her eyes were threatening to spill. It was very strange to cry again, after so many years–and she thought Kaito cried too as he held her–no–as they held each other in the predawn grey light, both trembling and standing together with travelling, shivering hands and mouths to learn each other by heart.

Her cell phone buzzed softly in her breast pocket. '_Are you two okay?'_ Kudo's deformed voice came crackling over the distance. _'You managed to find each other?'_

"We're fine," Kaito said, talking in the mouthpiece she held in her hand. "We're okay. You?"

'We're nearly done. We should be okay by sunrise. Are you?'

Kaito chuckled softly. "_We'_re ready since sundown, Kudo. What do you think we parted for?"

Kudo laughed throatily, said, _'Well, then, at sunrise if that's okay with you,'_ and hang up. Aoko looked at Kaito, and was answered with a half-smile and a kiss to the side of her mouth. "Think we can call KID back from the grave for a little while, keibu?"

Her breath caught. "Guess so. Cases of emergency."

"I knew you'd said that," he said, and scanned the sky for the cracking light that should be their signal. "It's time."

He pressed a button on the flat black remote he had kept in his hand even as they kissed; and the world all but exploded with the sound, and the sky all but exploded with colour. On the borders around the town, tall columns of smoke rose with a roar, while fireworks hissed and sprang to life with deafening bangs and sparks of lightning. The earth seemed to shake, as their careful preparations of the afternoon went off in a glorious crusade of noise and brightness, and Kaito laughed, and Aoko shouted, and their world blasted its shades apart.

And through the fumes and the thick smoke that had covered over the town after the fireworks had tuned down, the pale February sun broke and spilled onto them.

-

**If someone has any theories about what is going on, I would love to know. I'm not quite certain it was clear enough. By the way, I ended up really liking this chapter. Hum. Cookies?**


	20. Dusk–28

**A/N: Quite a lot happens in here. Actually, pretty much all the action does. All the questions are not answered, though, so this is the last chance for you to take your bets.**

**Warnings–nah, nothing much.**

**Disclaimer–no owning on my part, no suing on yours, all is well with the world.**

**-**

**2.8**

**-**

The shoot-out began again at noon. Earlier on, after the diversion the fireworks had provided, the members of the Organization (every time Kaito said it she could_ hear_ the capitalization) had shunned from their attackers and remained confined in the two tall laboratories on the edge of town. "Taking their time," a grim-looking Kudo had said, as they stood on the opposite building's roof. "We're the ones shutting them in, but they're the ones trying out our patience."

He smoke-stained face heightened the blue of his eyes as they swept over the town in the morning light. Looking at him, Aoko thought, This is what a hero looks like. "I believe if we'd gotten here even hours later than we did, the whole place would be going up in flames."

­–and then her gaze travelled down to Kaito, who was sitting on the edge of the roof and was looking downward, and thought, But it's good he has people to go there with him.

"They're coming out," Kaito announced tightly, and as the shooting began again in the street they had to part to avoid drawing attention to them.

Hakuba had called again. "On my way now," said the recorded message he'd left on Aoko's cell, to which she listened as she ran up to the north of the town. "Reinforcement is with me. We'll be there by sundown. If you manage to hold them back until then, we'll make it…"

Sundown. Hours away.

"Nakamori! Look out!" shouted Hattori's voice on her right, and she ducked. The bullet from the sniper flew right past she had had stood seconds earlier. Hattori's bullet caught him right in the chest, and he tumbled down from the second story window where he had lurked, ready to shoot anyone who passed.

She stared for a second at the crumpled body a few yards from she was half-seated, half-sprawled, and then grabbed Hattori's outstretched hand to straighten up. "Thanks," she muttered.

He considered her for a second, silent. "I'm sorry I underestimated you," he said finally; as she sent him a questioning look. "You're tough enough."

Coming from him, it was probably a compliment. "I've seen too many bodies in the past," she said, taking the words at face value for the current situation. Hattori's dark-skinned face was still frowning, but there was a hint of smile in the green eyes. She thought of the girl he had loved–still loved–the girl who had died? Had he been this gruff back when she was alive?

He nodded numbly. "Haven't we all, he muttered, and mentioned her toward the street he had just sprung from. "Kuroba said to say he's waiting for you where the two of you stacked the fireworks. There's been a, ah–unexpected development."

"Oh." She nodded in turn, grimly, and did not bother with more thanks as she set off again. It was not necessary.

Kaito was looking out a window on the second floor when she found him. The unexpected development turned out to be a young woman and two children–sons, brothers?–huddling in the back of the room, watching with a small gasp as she came in the room.

"Hey," said Kaito, with a tight grin as she joined him at the window. "What's up?"

"Hakuba won't be here until nightfall," she said, unfazed, "and Hattori just saved my life."

He didn't so much as blink. "I'll have to thank him for that." He cast a glance at the trembling trio behind them. "These will have to be taken safely out of town. Do you think you can–?" his tone was expectant.

"I'll come back," she affirmed. He gave her a sly smile.

"I know."

It took her three hours to take the young woman and her two boys out of town and then make it safely back. "Run," she told them, as soon as they were far enough. "Run till you find a town and _stay_ there. We'll come back for you."

By the time she had returned, the sun was low over the horizon. Kaito and Kudo were standing on the main avenue, looking down south; Kaito took her hand immediately and drew her to him. "You okay?"

"I'm fine. What is going on?"

"They've shut themselves up again," Kudo said. "We'd be able to take them on a one-on-one fight, but we're not nearly enough to assault them. There's over thirty of them left." He glanced at her; at Kaito. "In other words," he said slowly, "we need to keep them there until Hakuba's reinforcement arrive, and then draw them out."

Through Aoko's mind flashed a white, laughing figure on a rooftop, fireworks setting the night sky ablaze, and the furious faces of the KID Task Force members. "Oh," she said, grinning and settling more firmly in Kaito's arms, "I think we can work that out."

Kudo would never quite know what the two of them did to keep the BO members in the two tall labs they had confined themselves into, but there wasn't so much as an attempt to charge out until sundown. Kudo had hardly made his way to the landing copters on the main square and shaken Hakuba's hand, though, that one of the buildings' roof went up in flames.

"That's Kuroba," said Hakuba, and the conviction on his face, in his voice, was so decisive and raw that Kudo Shinichi did not think the contrary.

The next two hours were frantic. BO members left the two burning buildings in a rush at first, running straight into the Force's arms, but though many of them were but obedient assistants, the highest promoted would not go down without a fight. Vodka had been shot down in a gun rifle. Gin poisoned himself with the final, lethal version of the Apotoxin before Shinichi had time to get to him. Vermouth was nowhere to be found.

And with that, it seemed that the ten-years-old case could finally be closed.

(It was finally at nine p.m., as Shinichi and Heiji, both bloodied but very much alive, were being treated hot coffee and soup at the foot of the copters, while the labs and everything they contained burned down in the night, that Hakuba approached them again. He asked if either of them had seen Nakamori or Kuroba over the last few hours.)

-

**And so, with this, there is only tomorrow's chapter left. I'll see you then. *hands over cookies***


	21. Sunrise–01

**A/N: And so, here we come to it. Last chapter. Chapter-wise, if not word-wise, this was my longest fic, and the feedback I got was awesome. What, 140+ reviews? *laughs* you're so great. Actual thanks are at the bottom. By the way, the chapters' titles' have a meaning to them, gents. I'm a girl of routine.**

**On another note, happy b-day, Katie-chan! Much love to you, and have a lovely day. A double present is on its way, but it might take some time to wind it up.**

**Warnings–nope. Amounts of plot.**

**-**

**0.1**

**-**

They ended up at dawn in a dusty end-of-the-road café fifty miles away from Mortown, the car they had borrowed from Takagi-keiji and Satou-keiji having all but broken down and refusing to take them any further. It would necessitate serious repair, but for now they were left to enjoy their sunrise.

Bare from them and a couple of early hands at the counter, the place was empty, and long stretches of increasing sunlight leaned, pale, but not cold, over the tiles and tables. The TV above the drinks' counter was on, but the sound had been tuned down, and, so far, no news had come off the last two days' pandemonium.

"So if I get this straight," Aoko said, frowning, "you, Kudo and Hattori, the police forces, and the FBI have all been in on this to stop these guys, whoever they are."

"So far you're all good," Kaito replied, with one of his tired grins that rippled slowly on his lips."

"And the experiment­–"

"Well, I'm not too certain about that." It was his turn to frown. "Kudo could tell you much better than I–he's been a victim of it, actually. And so have I–indirectly, you might say." There was something he wasn't telling her here, clearly. She saw it in the rapid quirk of his lips, and god, after eight years, she _had_ learnt to read him. It'd just taken her time to deal with it. "This–Organization, whatever, has been trying to achieve one aim for many years–probably longer than we were involved with it. Longer than I even was involved with it, and I was before even Kudo."

"What aim?"

"Immortality." The word was dropped bluntly like a lump of sugar in a cup of coffee, and then Kaito frowned again. "Or at the very least, extended lifespan. Now my guess is, though I never really got these scientific things, they believed, they would attain that by discovering its exact contrary–which might actually prove in handy for them, later on. It did."

"A poison," Aoko breathed. "They intended to find a cure for death by first discovering the perfect poison?" She pondered on this for a moment–the ultimate venom, undetectable, tasteless, colorless, painless even– "That's crazy," she asserted eventually.

"They were the sanest people I met," Kaito said, with a twitch of his lips. "Especially considering they intended to try it out on the population of Mortown–"

"_That_ was the experiment? To poison a whole _town?" _Aoko's face was crumpled in disgust. "To find immortality?"

"Sickening, isn't it," he said somberly. "All for a theory that probably would have proved out to be wrong–a random guess–a myth." His face had closed in on itself, and the blue of his eyes had darkened with the tilt of his head. "Funny how much men are ready to sacrifice for fairy tales." –and then the moment passed, his face cleared, but she felt he wouldn't explain more; not as of yet.

"What about the murder?" she asked, more to divert his thoughts than by real curiosity–she had worked it out, mostly.

He shrugged a little, as though abashed. "Assistants, scientists, anyone who worked with them at some point and knew even little about this experiment. Their mistake, of course, was to kill them on a clear track that led us straight to Mortown, but it was quicker and they were out of time." The simple, straightforward explanation seemed to pull him together again.

"The FBI intended to simply follow the lead until its end–but people were _dying_ and well–Kudo and I sort of tried to prevent it about at the same time. We didn't talk to each other–or if we did, it was after we'd started."

He glanced at the TV above the counter. Nothing new there, though the sun had certainly risen by now. "But we started up late, and we were in a hurry. The snowstorm kinda slowed us up…" he offered her a smile like a present to take, and take it she did.

"It's over then," she said softly.

"Yes, it's over." Then, suddenly rebelling himself– "No, it's not. _That_ is over–everything else–" his eyes fastened on hers. "–_every_thing else-is not over." And then the corners of his mouth softened. "You won't stop coming after me, will you?"

"Would you stop running?" she asked.

He smiled. "Well–" he leaned forward to grab her hand again, "there's a bus leaving from here half an hour from now," he breathed over her lips, and as the sun rose above the tress of the stationing area, the light it now spilled white-gold over the large windowpanes and into the bar, the soft, hushed whisper of the TV, even the distasteful coffee standing in what small distance remained between them, all held the distinct shine of a promise.

-

**Tada! The end.**

**Now, for the traditional thankyou time–your reviews for this have been great, and I thank you all. They moved me, made me laugh, made me dream, and generally made my days during all this month. I have read and enjoyed every single one of them–and tried to respond to all, so if I forgot someone, I can only say I'm sorry. Thank you so much for reading­–this means a huge lot to me.**

**I hope you have enjoyed reading this fic, for I certainly enjoyed writing it. Cookietime!**


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